Fingerprints
by Mordred LeFay
Summary: Featuring my OC Raven. Rejected, for one reason or another, by their lovers, Raven and Gambit turn to each other, while Wolverine and Rogue, jealous and angry, end up in a bar, drinking and do more than just talk about the situation.


**Author's note**:I wrote this in 2004, after I stopped posting on here, so it's on my Blogger page but this is the first time it's seen the Raven is my original character (no, she's not Mystique, though I know they call her Raven nowadays), and although reading my other X-Men fics would help you understand the relationship between her and Wolverine, all you really need to know for this story is this: her powers are turning into a raven, and being able to taste people's memories in their blood (she could lick your cut and tell you all about your life up to that point). She also has a photographic memory. She loves Logan. He loves her but is afraid to get into a relationship with her. Gambit and Rogue are two of her best friends, but she and Gambit are lonely and horny and take it out on each other because Rogue's powers stop her and Gambit from having a physical relationship.

Oh, and this is set mostly in the Ultimate X-Men universe, but with movie-canon continuity on Rogue's real name. Enjoy!

Fingerprints

An X-Men Fan Fiction

--

"I dare you," Gambit said, his red-in-black eyes locked with Raven's, his face only inches from hers.

"You dare me?" she taunted back. "To kiss you?"

"I _dare_ you," he repeated with a smug and insolently charming smile. They stood in the garden behind the mansion, the garden groomed and tended by Ororo, known as Storm, in her spare moments. It had many areas like this, shielded and protected by thick foliage, as though she realized the need she and her fellow teammates had for seclusion (and assignation), which was so hard to find in the crowded school/mansion for mutants that belonged to Professor Charles Xavier.

"'Dare,' Remy?" Raven laughed, enjoying their flirtation, the thrill of sexual tension being prodded and tested. "People dare each other to spend the night in haunted houses, not to—"

"Spend the night with me?" he finished.

"Why aren't you ever bold?" she breathed. "And what about Rogue, you dashing cad you?"

"She ain't here, is she, _chere_?" He grabbed her arms and pulled her close. "Now," he said, huskily, "am I gonna have to double-dare you or what?"

He didn't. The force of Raven's lips colliding with his almost knocked them both off their feet, as they gave in to the attraction that had tugged at them ever since they first lay eyes on each other.

Five minutes later, when he managed to come up for breath, he gasped, "And I thought I'd have to challenge you to strip poker to get yo' clothes off."

"So obvious. You always win, don't you?" she asked.

"I was countin' on it," he said slyly, kissing her again and drawing her down to the soft grass.

* * *

"Did ya think I couldn't smell him on ya?" Logan said, his voice low and dripping with jealousy. He sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea growing cold in front of him. His head was down, face hidden by the brim of his cowboy hat.

Raven didn't answer, didn't take her eyes off him, but sank her teeth into the crisp flesh of the apple in her hand. The crunching was loud in the near-empty room. It was night, and almost everyone was asleep.

The truth was, Raven had thought about trying to hide it. She could have flown back to her room and slipped off for a shower before anything else, just in case she happened across Logan. She knew he could smell it. _She _could smell it on herself. Even after washing herself she was afraid his sensitive nose would be able to pick it up.

So no, she didn't try to hide it. She hadn't even picked the dried leaves from her hair. _I wanted you to know_, she thought as she crunched her way through her apple, the juice slaking her thirst. _I'm not going to martyr myself for your love._

"He's just usin' you," Logan said.

"Likewise," Raven said finally. The apple core thunked into the trash can. She licked her fingers, amazed at her calm. She was usually very calm after sex. It was strange, the power of the urge and the void it left when satisfied. Often Raven wondered at it, feeling almost ashamed at the madness once it had passed.

Oh how crazy she'd been. She missed Logan, she was climbing the walls. And there was Remy, just happening to be taking a stroll in the garden at the same time Raven was, just happening to run into her and teasing her into doing what she had been wanting to do since she came to the mansion. He loved Rogue, but it was the one thing she couldn't give him. Raven could, and did.

Logan's fists were clenched, as though he meant to strike her. She knew he wouldn't. She wondered just how much he wanted to. "You were the one who didn't want an entanglement, Mr. Lone Wolf," Raven said, with frost around the edges. "I told you I wouldn't be claimed just to be put away. You told me you couldn't get involved in anything solid. So what does it matter to you who I'm fucking?"

He looked up then, sharply, as if slapped. "He doesn't love you."

"And you do."

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

Logan stood. "You've tasted my heart—" he started violently, then broke off. "You know that doesn't lie," he muttered.

"What good is it if your heart and your actions don't match?" Raven retorted. "_You_ pushed _me_ away!"

"Things were different—"

"Have they really changed? You just don't want Gambit to have what you can't have. Or what you've denied yourself."

"Do you still love me?"

Raven was quiet, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. "Yes. But I got sick of waiting."

"And so you fill your nights with meaningless distraction."

"And you sit and brood or run off on your Harley and drink. You find some willing woman. Don't pretend you're any better than me." Without another word, Raven transformed into her namesake bird and flapped off down the corridors.

Logan waited until he couldn't hear her wings anymore. "I'm afraid," he admitted to the empty room. Draining his mug, he got up and set off for his own room.

He was afraid of starting something he had no right to, and couldn't finish. Maybe this was better, even though he knew that Gambit couldn't fill her need for stability or monogamous love any more than he could. At least Gambit would always be there, with his needs, his hungers. Logan was away too much.

Not that he didn't have needs, too. Raven was right about the women, and the drinking. He knew he shouldn't, he knew it was nothing but trouble. But would being together eliminate their problems, or blend them? Make them worse? If he was gone, would she turn to Gambit again? Logan couldn't handle that, not calmly. It was bad enough seeing Jean and Cyclops together, and Logan and Jean had only been together briefly, and it had ended badly enough.

As for the rest, he didn't want to poison her with his troubles. No, better broken separately than together and further shattered.

He stalked down the corridors to his room, ignoring Gambit's all-too-innocent greeting as he passed through the main entryway en route to the stairs to the second floor. He didn't really want to go to bed; he wanted to go to the bar, drink vodka straight-up until the bartender grew alarmed and he began to feel a slight buzz (the most he ever felt, with his healing factor), which could take hours. But he didn't feel like proving Raven right, not tonight.

Smashing the Cajun cur's face in was also a tempting alternative, even if just for two-timing Rogue, who had troubles enough with insecurity and needs that _couldn't_ be fulfilled no matter what. But he couldn't fool himself into thinking that it would be a noble act to bust up Remy's handsome face, even if it would keep the ladies away for a few weeks. No, it was good, old-fashioned jealousy fueling that urge, the same as when he let Cyclops fall for the sin of loving Jean even after Logan used her, instead of leaving her wounded and ready for a rebound.

"I really must be the most selfish bastard on the face of the earth," he muttered to himself as he fiddled with his room key.

"Ah wouldn't say that, sugah," came a soft, feminine voice with a Mississippi twang, right behind him. Rogue stood in her doorway, wearing a flimsy nightgown and, somewhat incongruously, long, white, cotton gloves that reached almost to her shoulders. She said that she put them on at night after applying lotion, to help it soak in. An old beauty secret, she said. But everyone knew it was mostly for others' protection. Rogue had no need for softening her hands; no one would feel their touch, not without giving life energy and powers in return.

"You're too kind, Rogue," he said, turning to lean his back against his door and regard the girl he had begun to think of as a younger sister. He meant his comment too; Rogue was too kind to him, to Gambit, to Raven. Wolverine knew the girl wasn't immune to jealousy, to despair, to helplessness against the curse of her mutant power. But she was always cheerful, friendly, and forgiving. Unfortunately, others took that to mean that she didn't mind. He knew she did. "And who is, then, if not me?"

Rogue reached up and tucked her stray, white skunk-stripe of hair behind her ear. "Ah believe that honor goes to Mr. LeBeau," she said softly.

"You know, then."

"They ain't as clever or sneaky as they think," Rogue confirmed. She sighed. "I've told him I'm through with him a hundred times, Logan, and he always charms his way right back in. Ah'm not surprised Raven's so taken with him; it's like he has another mutant power."

"Want me to kick his ass for ya, darlin'?" He gave her a wolfish grin.

She smiled back. "No. Thanks anyway, sugah. Though, he could use a kick in the pants." Logan winced. "Ah see you take my meanin'. Sometimes I think we're all of us fools, Wolvie."

"I know it."

Rogue hid a yawn beneath a prim, gloved hand. "Ah better get my beauty sleep. G'night, Logan. Dream sweet."

"You too, Rogue," he returned, unlocking his door and slipping into the darkness beyond.

* * *

It wasn't like they didn't try to be quiet. They were very quiet, in fact, to all but him. Wolverine stared at the ceiling and cursed his sensitive hearing. He was probably the only one who would be able to hear their stifled moans, their voiceless panting. Logan tried to concentrate on the sound of his own breathing, to center himself, let the noise fall away and become no more intrusive or noticeable than the call of a bird outside his window.

But that was when Raven's moaning grew more frequent and urgent, and Gambit let out a grunt that she shushed. Logan threw himself out of bed, tugged on his clothes and fled into the hall.

It was a little more audible out there, doors being less soundproof than walls. His blood was pounding in his ears, his hands, he realized, shaking. He almost tripped over Rogue in his haste to get down the hall; she was sitting with her back pressed to her door, staring holes through Raven's door across from her. The rage in her eyes burned against the calmness of her face like bonfires in a field of snow.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Logan asked.

"I could ask you the same," Rogue said.

"You can hear them too?"

She shook her head slowly. "Hear 'em? No. But I saw him go in. I'm waitin' for him to come out." On the latter sentence her voice began to strain. Logan noticed she wasn't wearing her gloves.

"Do you really wanna see inside his head after this, darlin'?" Logan asked.

"No," Rogue whispered. "I just want him to hurt."

God, weren't they finished yet? Logan couldn't take any more of it. "Get somethin' on and meet me on the front steps. We're goin' for a ride."

Rogue didn't question, nor did she move. Logan stalked down the hall, putting distance between himself and that door until he couldn't hear them anymore.

* * *

Logan waited 'til he was sure she wasn't coming, and that's when the door opened and Rogue came out, in jeans and leather, wearing leather gloves and an emerald-green, cashmere scarf. "Are you takin' me somewhere disreputable, sugah?" she asked. She had gelled out her hair and put on lipstick.

"You bet. C'mon, I rolled the bike near the end of the drive, so we don't wake anyone up." Logan offered her his arm, and she took it.

"How considerate, to worry about wakin' somebody up. If only everyone was so considerate," Rogue snipped as they walked, her boot heels clacking on the pavement.

"Want me to idle a bit under Gumbo's window?" Logan offered. Rogue laughed and leaned against him.

"Let's drive it down the hall and rev outside his bedroom," she suggested. "Oh Wolvie, ah need a Whiskey Sour in the worst way." She climbed on the Harley behind him and snugged up tight as he fired it up. A flock of crows screeched away from the gates as they opened and poured the motorcycle out into the night.

* * *

Wolvie had hoped that after a few drinks Rogue would be laughing, not crying. Turned out to be a bit of both. Truthfully, she was a bit of a sloppy drunk. Either that, or she was acting drunker than she was.

To keep her laughing, he did most of the talking, which wasn't usual. Of course on a normal night like this he would be here alone, drinking with grim determination and speaking to no one. He wasn't used to being the clown. But Rogue kept laughing, and he started to realize that was cheering him up. He was having fun. He was laughing.

"Why haven't we done this before?" Logan asked her.

Rogue lifted her third half-empty glass to a sly smile. "You never invited me, sugah," she said, taking a deep pull.

"Maybe I didn't want Gambit to think I was movin' in on his woman."

"Maybe you should've. Maybe he needs to think someone's movin' in on his girl." She drained the rest of her glass and slammed it down to the coaster. A crack ran up its side. "Don't know my own strength," she giggled. For a minute she seemed unable to stop, and Logan realized she was starting to sob.

"Oh Logan," she burbled, "it's mah own fault. I told him, 'if you want her, go ahead'." She pushed her glass away from her, gingerly, with one finger, as though afraid to hurt it further.

Wolverine shook his head and knocked back another shot; he added the glass to the small pile forming in front of him. "Never tell a man he can do somethin' you don't want him to do. Damn women's games," he grumbled. "Testin' by sayin' okay and gettin' mad when they do it."

"I wasn't testin' him. I was testin' her," Rogue explained. Logan raised an eyebrow. "Guess I underestimated _that_ attraction."

"Y'know, some women would rather their man sleep with one of their friends. At least she'd have some idea where her friend's been."

Rogue shook her head. "Not me. Ah don't' want to know what he's doin' or who with. Ah'd rather he satisfy his needs an' I never have to know how. But this? It's in mah face. Ah can see 'em, hear 'em, know when an' where an' what. No." She put both hands on the table and braced herself. "Gotta powder mah nose," she slurred, got to her feet, and tumbled, landing on her ass. "Ffuck," she mumbled.

"Think you've had enough," Wolverine told her, throwing a stack of bills on the table. He hauled her to her feet. "Ladies room, then we're out. Out," he repeated, cutting her whining short, "before you're too drunk to hold on to me on the bike."

"Wolvie, ah think I'm just 'bout drunk 'nough to hold onto you," she said with a crooked smile as she went through the bathroom door, clutching the frame for support.

Out in the parking lot, Rogue leaning on him and giggling, Wolverine had to ask, "What'd you mean in there, 'bout makin' Gambit think things? You wanna make him jealous?" Rogue waved her hand as though batting away a fly or a bad smell. "No, what're you hintin' at, young lady?"

"What, Wolvie, could we do to make them jealous?" Rogue scoffed, sitting heavily side-saddle on the motorcycle's seat. "Smolderin' looks? Holdin' hands? With mah gloves on, 'course." She pouted.

Logan took a step toward her and cupped her shoulders in his hands until she looked up at him, brow furrowed in confusion. Then he kissed her. Her mouth tasted sour, and for a second it was like any other kiss he'd ever had with any normal woman. Then he felt the drain of his energy into her, like someone had pulled the plug in a basin, the weakness coming on him same as when he first kissed Raven, only different because this time his strength really was leaving him. But he waited until Rogue pushed him away, gasping, suddenly clear-eyed and sober, his healing factor processing the alcohol in her blood even as it left him to his own devices.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he actually got drunk. He could down a handle of vodka in ten minutes and feel buzzed for maybe fifteen and sick for fifteen more. But now he suddenly saw what Rogue thought was so funny.

"You tryin' to kill yerself, bub?" she scolded, her voice rougher somehow.

"Darlin'," he said, but couldn't go farther. It felt too good, all confused, numb and swimming and so damn funny. He looked at Rogue, her face flushed, and wanted to kiss her again.

"Damn it, no," she protested. She was strong enough and he was still weak enough that she could hold him back. "Don't be a fool, Logan."

He didn't persist, but looked at her. "Your lips're so soft. He know that?"

Rogue blushed. "We've kissed before. He said it hurt him."

Logan laughed. "Damn, don't he know a good kiss is s'posed to make a man feel weak in the knees?"

Rogue raised an eyebrow at him. "You do really love her. Why don't you be with her, then?"

"You know why."

"Stupid reasons, Wolvie. 'Least I got real ones. Yours are all ghosts." Rogue crossed her arms. "Make up with her. Be with her." Logan sighed. Rogue rose to her feet, swung her arm back, and slapped him hard.

"Ow," Logan said, fingering his cheek.

"Dammit, if not for you then for me!" Rogue yelled. "Get her away from Remy!"

* * *

It was Rogue that drove them back, since she knew how to handle the bike and was strong enough to drive it even with Logan a near-dead-weight on the back. She thanked him for the drinks and the ride, apologized for the slap, and slipped off to her room.

Logan paused in the hall outside Raven's door, thought of knocking, and decided to just pull it open. It was unlocked. The pair in bed froze in the light. "_Mon ami_—" Gambit began.

"Don't _mon ami_ me, bub, just get out," Wolverine snarled. Neither protested. Gambit pulled his clothes on and left, looking almost smug and knocking his shoulder against Logan's as he left. He closed the door behind him.

Logan stood there, door against his back, looking at Raven and waiting for her to say something.

What she said was, "You reek of booze."

"Big surprise. I proved you right again. Only I took Rogue out with me, so I didn't end up in bed with a woman this time. So I got at least one point on you."

"Are you drunk?"

A corner of his mouth tilted up. "Courtesy of Rogue's magic kisses, a little." Raven's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "What's the problem, darlin'? Jealous? That's rich comin' from you." Logan stepped forward. "What do you want? Some duel for your hand?" he said, low and tense. "You want some gladiator battle? Claws versus cards? You want me to go track 'im down and do ten paces at dawn? Who the fuck do you think you are, Helen of Troy?"

Raven looked at him with scorn. "There's more than one way to fight, Logan. You never seem to get past the one, though."

He was standing by the bed now. "How many hoops do I have to jump through?" he hissed.

"None. God, I just wanted to get your attention. I didn't sleep with him for that, though. I just didn't bother covering it up." Raven studied her bedspread, gathering her sheets tighter around her. "I don't want to get fought over. You already won, idiot. I'm just waiting for you to claim your prize. Still here if you want it, though it has another man's fingerprints on it."

"Fingerprints, lip prints," Logan said, wiping his lips with his thumb. It was red with Rogue's lipstick. "They wipe off fine." His head was still swimming. "Let's stop all this dancin' around then," he said, taking off his jacket and dropping it on the floor.

Raven moved over and raised the covers, to let him in.


End file.
